The End of Raccoon City
by half-brain
Summary: Left with nowhere to turn after the mansion incident, Jill fights her inner demons while Chris plots his personal brand of justice against the Umbrella Corporation. Unfortunately, Umbrella has plans of their own. (cancelled)
1. Long Road to Recovery

A/N: Dang, this took long. I've been meaning to get this story on the way since I decided I wasn't pleased with the first try. Oh yeah - if you haven't figured it out yet, this is basically a reboot of the idea I had for Fight of Our Lives, only slightly more well thought out and canonical. Damn my obsession with canon... anyways... So here goes, don't expect me to be posting terribly regularly, though I'll be trying anyways, and I hope you enjoy!

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><p>The UH-1 Huey's downdraft blew Jill's hair in her face as she ran. Thunderous footsteps belonging to Umbrella's monster matched the pace of the pulse in her ears. It was right behind her. Brad's face, illuminated in the green glow of the chopper's displays, showed fear on the same magnitude as when he had abandoned them in the forest hours ago. He managed to hold the Huey a mere foot above the helipad, skids wobbling as he fought to keep it steady in the wind. Barry leapt aboard, followed by Rebecca and Chris. It was still right behind her. Chris leaned out, one gloved hand extended towards Jill. She lunged, but their fingertips barely brushed and she was falling.<p>

Her knees cracked unexpectedly against the floor of Kendo's Gun Shop. Glass shards lay scattered across the floor from the large window, a mangled body sprawled right in the middle of the debris. A number of dark, lurching figures took notice of Jill's presence. She charged through the back door, grimacing as her hand momentarily slipped on the blood-smeared knob.

The door opened to reveal a large room in which a Greek statue peered across a gigantic emblazonment of the Raccoon Police Department crest. The RPD main hall. Jill frantically made her way through deserted hallways – past benches and plants and two well-known vending machines – to the S.T.A.R.S. office. She reached out to open the door. It opened on its own, revealing the wood paneling and peeling wallpaper of the Spencer mansion… and the spitefully grinning Wesker. Blood spilled from his perforated stomach as he lifted his gun, the muzzle no more than an inch from her forehead.

Jill screamed.

He fired.

She sat up in her bed, taking a couple of seconds to register the darkness of her bedroom and red glowing numbers of an alarm clock. Just past three in the morning. The cry and gunshot still rang in Jill's ears. She took a few deep breaths, letting the adrenaline drain away. It had been like this every night for the past two weeks – since they made it back alive from the mansion. Whenever she closed her eyes it seemed, the memories came back. After-images of something she would much rather forget.

With a partially frustrated, partially relieved sigh, Jill let her head fall back on the pillow. She needed a beer.

_No,_ her mind interjected, _that's just gonna lead to you doing something dumb. Not to mention make the nightmares worse._

Still, she doubted her ability to fall asleep again tonight.

She wondered if maybe the dream had meant something, been foreshadowing of a sort. The first half was based roughly on memory, and Wesker's betrayal could explain the ending. But Raccoon was still uninfected last she had checked, and the last sighting or incident had been before their failed mission. All activity on that front had ceased for the time being. Chris and Barry were worried about an outbreak in town, but Jill had figured that if it were going to happen, it should have a long time ago. But that was just her theory.

Jill swung her slender legs over the side of the bed, still bruised from encounters with Umbrella's experiments, and she went in search of a snack. She was starving. The odd musings about her dream went on as first the fridge then the pantry was found to contain nothing appetizing. Despite knowing she had way over-thought it, something in the back of her mind prevented her from just letting the nightmare go.

Hard to believe it had already been two weeks.

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><p>"Mornin', Chris."<p>

"Hey Rita. How's it going?"

"Can't complain. You?"

"Surviving, I suppose."

Officer Rita Hawkins was one of few RPD officers willing to risk conversation with him or for that matter, any of the remaining S.T.A.R.S. Irons wasn't too keen on anyone talking with them, further fueling Chris' suspicion that more people were on Umbrella's payroll than just Wesker. A lot more.

"What brings you to the station today?"

Chris quickly decided not to divulge too much information. "Business as usual I guess, if anything about the past couple weeks can be considered usual."

"Fair enough." Rita looked away. Honestly, it was hard too blame anyone for not believing their story. It seemed a little far-fetched. _I mean, zombies, really? It's no wonder anyone we've told the full truth to thinks we're either lying, crazy, or think we know too much._

"Well, I don't want to keep the chief waiting for too long. Nice to see you."

"You too, Chris. Good luck in there."

"Thanks."

As his boots clomped along the hardwood floor, Chris knew he wasn't going to like whatever Irons had to say. The taxidermied tiger standing outside the police chief's door probably didn't help. Damn thing gave him the creeps. Inside the office was even worse. The room may have once been relatively spacious if it wasn't for Irons' gigantic mahogany desk, framed paintings and awards adorning the walls, as well as no less than a dozen mounted animals – everything from deer heads to an eagle positioned in mid-takeoff. Not sure how the latter was legal. He always had held the impression that they stared at him with their lifeless glass eyes whenever he was in there; maybe the chief intended it to seem that way.

"Knock knock."

"Redfield. You're on time," Irons noted coldly.

"Miraculous, isn't it."

"Yes, I guess it is…"

Chief of Police Brian Irons scanned over a document with squinty eyes, pudgy form partially reclined in his leather chair, straining the confines of his dress shirt. His salt-and-pepper moustache ticked back and forth as his eyes grazed the contents of the page. Unexpectedly he slapped it down on the table, momentarily causing a few other papers to take flight. "That was Brad's resignation."

"Always like him to turn tail and run whenever there was trouble." The statement came out more bitterly than Chris had intended.

"He cited the reason as guilt over leaving his fellow officers behind when they needed him the most. Tell me," inquired the chief, leaning forward and steepling his fingers on the desk's polished surface. "Do you think that the majority of the incident was his fault?"

What was Irons fishing for with such a loaded question? Sure, it would have prevented a decent amount of what happened, but the Bravos were already just about wiped out by the time Alpha was even on the scene. That and they never would have discovered Umbrella's true goals until it was too late, not to mention Wesker would have led the charge in anyways. But maybe... honestly, as pissed as Chris was at Brad, would his actions even have made a difference? Irons was definitely hoping for a certain answer, Chris could hear it in his voice. As if sensing his thoughts, Irons gave a grim smirk before adding, "It's really not that tough of a question."

"With all due respect, I think there's more to what you're asking than is being let on."

"Like what?" His eyes narrowed, crow's feet becoming more pronounced.

"You tell me."

"I don't have to tell you anything. You work for me," Irons growled.

"No," Chris replied, barely disguising his frustration, "I work for the people of Raccoon."

"Too bad none of them believe you. No one ever will. I'm trying to pull your ass out of the fire. If we make it look like a tragic helicopter accident, then everyone can continue going on with their lives."

Chris slammed his fists on the desk and stood, rattling a mug full of pens and a stapler. "Go about our _lives_! Umbrella _ruined _our lives! Barry's family had to flee the country and his girls are terrified, six of our friends were killed by those bastards' experiments, our leader betrayed us, and we're just supposed to go on with our lives? Is that what you're saying?"

"Do you really think the citizens are going to rally against the very corporation who turned this city into more than just a farming town? Who paid for just about every public service from the library to the college, and who at least a quarter of the population receive their paychecks from? Not to mention any solid evidence you and your compatriots may have had was destroyed when the mansion went up in flames."

"Do they pay you too? Maybe the mayor, other officials, our state government? How far does it go?"

Irons gave Chris a deadly glare. "It doesn't go anywhere."

"That's a load of bullshit and you know it."

"Drop it Chris, before anyone else gets hurt. That isn't a threat, it's me trying to keep you out of harm's way."

"Too late. You already put me there."

With that, Chris stormed out of the room. Umbrella was going to pay.

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><p>AN: Well, that's the beginning. I want to apologize to anyone who was looking forward to more chapters of the previous story, it just wasn't working. As I tried to continue, too many conflicting ideas kept pulling the story apart. This one WILL WORK though, I promise! As always, reviews are appreciated, and I hope to hear from you!


	2. A Time For Action

A/N: Sorry for the insanely long time between chapters, I'm trying to get them out faster but... yeah, you guys are hear to read, not hear about my life lol. Anyways, here is chapter 2, hope you enjoy, and as always feedback is always welcome.

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><p>The S.T.A.R.S. office was unbearably quiet. Only the rustle of an occasional paper broke the silence whenever Jill flipped a page in her report. Her mind told her she should have heard Joseph telling a lame excuse for a joke, or Chris and Forest bickering lightly over who was the better shot, Brad tapping his pen on the newspaper while trying to decipher the clues to a crossword puzzle, something, anything. The lack of familiar aural activity only helped drive home the realization that everything had changed, and many of her friends – people she had cared deeply about – were gone. The life she had grown accustomed to was shattered.<p>

_At least I still have Chris and Barry._ Though only a small consolation in the face of July's tragic watershed, it helped.

Chris came through the door wearing a thoughtful scowl, his seemingly permanent expression as of late. "Hey."

"Hey."

He sat down in his chair, starting to work on his own report. The stifling silence went on awhile longer before Chris broke it. "It's the little things you miss."

Jill swiveled around to find him facing her. From the change of expression on his face, he was staving off a tidal wave of some strong emotion, possibly grief. His wording was exactly the same as something he had said when telling Jill about the death of his parents.

"I wish this was all just a dream," Jill began. "That I'll wake up and none of this really happened."

Chris nodded, eyes downcast as he proceeded to say, "I'm leaving town as soon as the rent on my apartment is up."

"Where will you go?"

"I dunno. Haven't figured that part out yet. Anywhere but here, I guess."

"But – why?" Admittedly, it wasn't like the thought hadn't crossed her mind before.

He paused, staring at the ceiling momentarily before choosing his answer. "There's nothing left for me here. My career is about to end, most of my friends are dead or elsewhere, and thanks to the statements Irons and Mayor Harris gave the press, my reputation is destroyed. Not to mention I'd rather not be here when and if zombies decide to march on city hall."

"Shouldn't we at least try to continue warning the town?"

"It's not worth it. No one here is gonna believe anything we say."

He had a valid point. Actually, a few valid points. But leaving the citizens of Raccoon to simply fend for themselves in the event that zombies or, God forbid, any of Umbrella's more gruesome creatures made it to the surface didn't sit right with her. Even with the knowledge of how the T-virus spread it would be a disaster. She could tell Chris didn't feel any better about that aspect of his plan, but something else had won out in his mind.

"You're sure this is the right thing to do?"

"As sure of anything as I can be anymore."

"You know that means I'm coming with you, right?"

"I was hoping you'd say that."

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><p>For a few seconds, Ben deliberated over answering his phone. It had been practically ringing off the hook all day, the callers' intentions varying from questions about yesterday's paper to telemarketing. <em>They should really make the latter illegal<em> he thought, sighing and giving in to the steady bleat of the ringer. "Hello?"

"Is this Ben Bertolucci?"

"Yeah, how can I help you?"

"Actually, I think I can help you."

"Listen, if you're another damn telemarketer-" Ben began to grumble frustratedly, but was promptly cut off.

"This is about the Victory Lake case. I may have some… inside information."

"Fine, I'll bite."

Ben was a bit suspicious of the voice on the other end of the line, but any bit of information he could get on the murders, fact or speculation, was welcome. It would all fit nicely into his story on the Raccoon Police Department's more questionable actions.

"I can't say a whole lot over the phone, except that I believe the Umbrella Corporation is involved. Meet me in Raccoon Park half an hour from now. I'll be sitting alone at a picnic table near the playground."

"Got it. By the way, who are you anyway?"

"Sorry, you're gonna have to wait to find that out as well." With a click, the other man hung up. Ben set the phone back in its cradle.

He had some time to burn, spending most of it drinking coffee before heading down to the front desk and letting Debbie, the receptionist, know he was headed out. It was a rather chilly day despite the sunshine, and Ben was not looking forward to sitting outside for any length of time.

Ben had forgotten how empty everything had become since the murders began. Apart from a classic muscle car, his was the only other in the lot. A lone man sat at one of the wooden picnic tables; he was maybe in his twenties and was wearing a brown jacket to keep out the cold. This must have been the caller.

"Um, excuse me? I'm Ben Bertolucci."

The man looked up from a thin stack of papers expectantly. "You're early."

"I try. Look, let's cut the crap. What information do you have? If this is a waste of my time, I'd like to know now."

He gave a grim smirk before sliding the papers toward Ben. "These are just a handful of files, reports, and other documentation connecting the Umbrella Corporation and a number of city officials with the murders this summer."

Ben began paging through, letting out a low whistle at the vast amount of incriminating evidence. "How do you know this is accurate, and where did you get ahold of this?"

"Some I dug up in some well-hidden police files, but most is directly from the Spencer mansion. I can't be one-hundred percent sure that this is fact, but I've been able to verify the majority of it, and everything's checked out so far."

It should have dawned on him earlier. This must be one of the disgraced S.T.A.R.S. members; they had been the last people in the mansion before it went up like a Roman candle. By pictures Ben had seen, this was probably Chris Redfield. The few survivors of the accident in July had been telling sensational stories of "zombies" and other monsters that resided in Oswell Spencer's abandoned retreat, and to be completely honest, like most other people, Ben thought the whole thing was a load of bull.

"So next I guess you're gonna try and convince me that there are zombies in the forest, huh?"

"Look," Chris started, "I don't care if you believe me about that. But there is a lot being covered up about these murders, and I'm telling you Umbrella is behind it. Hell, they're behind just about anything worth noting that goes on in this town. Almost all the key city officials are illegally on Umbrella's payroll, you can take my word for it or research it yourself. They've done a considerably bad job at hiding it."

With a sigh, Ben thumbed through some more documents. "Fine. I'll check it out. Maybe something here will help." It was a better lead than he'd found in months, though that wasn't saying a whole lot.

"If I manage to dig up anything else, I'll mail it to you. Don't waste this opportunity, I'm counting on you." With that, Chris glanced at his watch. "I have to go. You'll be hearing from me soon."

Both men got up and headed to their respective vehicles. As the Mustang rumbled to life and pulled away, Ben tossed the folder onto the passenger seat. Could it really be that the Umbrella Corporation, Raccoon's biggest benefactor, was behind the whole Victory Lake incident and the destruction of S.T.A.R.S.? Ben had suspected that the pharmaceutical group had their thumbs in more than just a few pies, but for them to cover up something so massive was more than money could buy. Something deep inside of him, however, told him to trust Chris. There was really only one way to find out for sure.

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><p>As she parked the Subaru in her driveway, Jill instantly knew something was wrong. Nothing noticeable had changed at the front of the house, but instinctively she sensed danger. Cautiously getting out of the car, Jill made her way to the front door while rummaging through her purse for the snub-nosed revolver she often carried. She fumbled the key into the lock, raising the pistol as the door creaked open, hoping she was just jumpy.<p>

The house was a mess. It just got worse the further she went, every drawer pulled open and the contents strewn about the carpet, a few shattered dishes laying in the kitchen, and just about everything else overturned or otherwise displaced. Keeping the gun ready, Jill methodically checked every room for the intruder or intruders. Whoever had ransacked her house was gone.

Something crunched under her foot – the familiar sound of shattered glass. Looking down, Jill saw the cracked frame surrounding a picture from last year's barbecue, one of the last photos taken with all the S.T.A.R.S. members. She gently stepped back, picking it up and seeing that the picture was now scratched from the sparkling shards of glass beneath her shoes. A lifetime of starting over had kept her from becoming sentimental about most things, but for whatever reason Jill felt herself tearing up. She knew that Umbrella had to have ordered the break-in, maybe just as a scare tactic, or maybe they thought she had physical evidence against them and wanted it back. It didn't really matter either way; she was obviously not safe here and no longer held any illusions to the contrary.

Setting the damaged photo and her revolver on the kitchen counter, Jill began trying to straighten things back up. Less dishes than she had initially thought were broken, though most of her glasses were destroyed. The extent of the physical damage was surprisingly minimal. She was in the middle of refolding her clothes when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Jill, it's Barry. How are you?"

"I've…" She looked around at the mess. "Been better."

"Everything okay?"

"Someone broke into my house. I don't think anything is missing, but they damaged a few things."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Are you okay?"

"Yeah; a little shook up, but I've had worse." Jill couldn't help but smile. Barry had taken an almost paternal role in her life since she had joined S.T.A.R.S., and his genuine concern only aided that notion.

"Alright. Well, I just called to let you know my family is safe and sound, and I will be headed back into Raccoon late tonight with Rebecca. I let Chris know too, we were going to go and get dinner maybe around eleven. Would you like to join us?"

"Yeah, that actually sounds like just what I need right now. Emmy's Diner I assume?"

"Yep. I'll see you there."

"Okay. Thanks Barry, I'll see you in a few hours."

Jill hung up the phone. It would be nice to see Barry and Rebecca again. Chris may be her closest friend, but there were things she didn't necessarily want to tell him about for that very reason. She knew how much he cared about her and how protective he could be, but he had his own luggage to deal with and didn't need hers on top of it though he would willingly do his best to shoulder her issues. Not to mention there were just some things that could only be discussed with another woman.

Setting her mind back on the task at hand, Jill grabbed another shirt and began to fold.


	3. G

A/N: A short chapter, but another should be up soon. Don't worry, the actoin will be coming soon!

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><p>It was strange to be back. Everything felt familiar, as if nothing had happened as Rebecca followed Barry into Emmy's. It had been the favorite restaurant of many S.T.A.R.S. members and was the scene of most of their out-of-office antics. Yet at the same time she had to remind herself that her team was gone, and an occasionally overwhelming sense of danger kept creeping up like a dark haze. Everything somehow felt hollow.<p>

The buzz of neon lights was cut off by the jingle of bells as Barry opened the door. The diner was as busy as usual, and she quickly identified Chris and Jill sitting at their usual booth. As Rebecca slid into the red, polyester bench seat, she peered out the window into the streetlamp-illuminated darkness, hoping that Barry was wrong about Raccoon's imminent infection. That was all he had been talking about lately – getting the word out about the T-virus before it was too late. From her limited knowledge of T, she definitely held the same fear.

Barry gave Jill a gigantic bear hug before firmly shaking Chris' hand. It was great to see him so happy to be with them, yet the prematurely aging man had lost a lot of the youthful spark in his eyes. Part of that, she guessed, had to do with the near loss of his family. But he was beaming at the sight of Jill and Chris, which was something Rebecca was glad for.

Chris and Jill greeted Rebecca warmly before they all sat back down and a waitress came over with four menus. She wondered how the other two S.T.A.R.S. members were holding up. Jill seemed relieved to have them there, but Chris was hard to read. Which was odd, because in the few months Rebecca had known him, Chris was never hard to read. It was plain to see he was hiding something.

"I'll have the Monte Cristo with potato salad and a sprite."

Rebecca was snapped out of her musings by Barry's order, and realized she hadn't decided on what she was going to get. Quickly skimming the menu, she decided on a burger and salad. The waitress sauntered off toward the kitchen.

"So what's new around here anyways? Anything change in the past two-and-a-half weeks?" Barry looked back and forth expectantly between the two former officers across the table. Chris remained silent, so Jill spoke up.

"Nothing I didn't mention on the phone."

"So nothing besides the break-in?"

Jill looked uncomfortable and took in a deep breath as Chris cocked an eyebrow. "You had a break-in?" She hadn't told him?

"Yeah, uh… someone ransacked my house while I was at the RPD. Nothing's missing and only a few things were broken. I'm okay."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I'm sure."

Chris' concern immediately faded back into the poker face he had worn only moments earlier. What was going on?

"So…" Barry awkwardly tried to continue, "Chris, do you have any news?"

"I've got nothing. We're still as good as off the force, and I don't think my talk with the Chief helped a whole lot. He doesn't want us anywhere near this case, or any others for that matter."

Rebecca piped up. "Has he always been this ignorant?"

"The guy's got fricken' delusions grandeur, and our 'gross mishandling of the case' doesn't quite fit with his goal of becoming mayor. He only sees what he wants to." Chris had raised his voice, and despite a fair attempt at disguising his frustration, it was pretty obvious. _At least he's readable now…_

"Not to mention he's a creep. Makes my skin crawl every time he looks in my general direction," Jill added, looking ready to shudder at the very thought.

Barry scoffed and shook his head in disgust. "A physical assault charge, messy divorce, and overturned rape trial later, and he's moving on up in the world."

She had heard about some of this before, and her few run-ins with Irons had left her with the same impression. "Hard to believe he was once one of the best cops on the force."

"No kidding. If he gets elected to be mayor, I think I'll be sick."

It wasn't long before their food arrived and they each set into their meals at their own pace. Chris and Jill were gobbling down French fries as if they hadn't eaten in days with Barry not far behind. Rebecca wasn't feeling quite so competitive and brought up the rear. Miraculously the conversation still continued despite the food inhalation, mainly centering on reminiscing about times before Spencer's mansion. All of them had things they needed to unpack mentally to achieve some sort of closure. The whole disaster seemed so impossible, and already began to feel surreal, like a bad nightmare you just couldn't get rid of. Rebecca's moderate psychology training told her these were the early, mild stages of post-traumatic stress disorder.

"Rebecca, you haven't said much. Got anything on your mind?" Jill asked, refocusing her on the conversation.

"Just the same things as usual." Rebecca paused. "I wish there was someone from back in Maine who I could talk to. My parents just wouldn't understand."

Jill nodded. "We all feel that way. Something these two lunkheads taught me is that in an intense situation like what we went through, the only people who will truly understand were the ones who were there. No one else will get it."

"It's true," spoke Chris. "How do you think Barry and I got to be such good friends?" He gave a mischevious smirk, punching the older man in the arm from across the table.

"I guess that makes sense. It just feels so lonely, being that we're the only ones left besides Brad."

Chris sighed. "We probably won't be seeing much of him anymore. Chickenheart turned in his resignation the other day and skipped town."

"No kidding?" Barry said. "Not like it's a surprise, but I thought he might have had the guts to stick around awhile longer."

"I guess not." He paused, as if deciding whether or not to continue his thought. It wasn't hard to tell he was keeping something from his friends, but when everyone else paid no notice, Rebecca decided it was wise to do the same.

"Hey," Barry interjected hopefully. "Let's blow this popsicle stand and find something to get our minds off of this crap, just for tonight."

Everyone agreed with apparent relief.

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><p>It was the next morning, and Chris sat in front of the TV eating a bowl of cereal. As usual, not much was on, leaving him to flip to the news. Chris had been tempted to tell his friends what his actual intentions were, but despite the fact that Jill already had a glimpse at a small part of the scheme he was formulating, he wanted everything to already be set in motion by the time they found out. After all, Barry had his family to worry about, Rebecca, though tough for her age, was still quite young and untested, and he knew Jill was taking everything surprisingly harder than anyone. They all had their own things to worry about without him throwing on the stress of a complicated plan that Chris was just beginning to flesh out the details of.<p>

Meanwhile, he figured Claire would be safe until when and if things really began to heat up, and by then he could make it to Minneapolis to pick her up from college. He had already checked on her a few times, so far only telling her that there had been an accident and that the S.T.A.R.S. were under heavy investigation, but that she shouldn't worry. Naturally, she had insisted on details, but Chris opted out, claiming he wasn't allowed to talk about an ongoing case. The less she knew, the less danger she would hopefully be in.

His phone rang. Quickly muting the television, he grabbed the cordless from its charger. "Hello?"

"Chris? This is Ben from the Raccoon Times."

"Hey. Kinda surprised to be hearing from you so soon."

"I'm a bit surprised to be calling you in the first place. I have to admit, I thought you were crazy, but everything so far pans out."

"Can't say I'm glad to hear it, but you understand."

"No kidding. I did some extra digging while waiting for some of the information to get back to me, and it looks like we may have a problem." Ben sounded a bit worried. "There's another virus, and this one is far worse than what you encountered at the mansion. It's only referred to as 'G.'"


End file.
